Just take a step over here, please,
and sign on the dotted line.
Your conscience is perfectly clear now
And it’s all going to be just fine.
It isn’t a question of principle,
when wrapped in a fictional skin
A story is simply, exactly that
It can glorify any old sin.
The reader will know it’s only a tale,
And never it serious take
They are fully aware, the words that you writ
Are totally, utterly fake.
So keep your eye on that paycheque
It’s all going to be just fine
And you really won’t even notice that
You’ve crossed a horrendous red line…

E.M. Swift-Hook

An extract from the next Fortune’s Fools book, Iconoclast: Not To Be by E.M. Swift-Hook which will be available in the new year.

Suddenly she was free, thrown aside as her attacker released her abruptly. Lorelea gasped, still choking, and threw out her good arm to save herself as the ground came up hard. She skidded and tried to roll, hurting her hip in the process, gasping for breath desperately. Then a hand scooped under her elbow, lifting her back to her feet.
“We need to move. He’s down, but I think he might have called in back-up.”
The voice was male and familiar, though in the moment she couldn’t place it, but she didn’t fight as the man helped her rise and locked an arm under her shoulder so she was half lifted and half running away from the bay, but further into the more dilapidated area of the spaceport. 
Her breath had come back now and, willing to fight again if needed, Lorelea resisted being pulled along. The moment she did, the man released her, spinning them both behind a high-sided industrial storage bin as he did so. He was tall and had to crouch down to keep his head below the level of the rim where Lorelea could stand beside it.
Now she knew him. 
This was the man she had last seen on Hell’s Breath. The same ruffled dark red-brown hair, the same direct gaze. It was the CSF man who had interrogated her daughter and told Lorelea his name was Grim. He had been looking for Jaz too. The last time she had seen him it had been along the length of an old-style energy weapon she was holding, but presumably he wasn’t carrying a grudge about that. She could think of no reason why he would be here, but in that moment it didn’t matter. He might not be her first choice of ally, but he was one she could at least trust to get her out of the present mess she had walked into.
“Your place or mine?” he asked. “Mine is right round the corner.”
Lorelea saw the figure even as Grim reacted and started to turn, but too slow. She had been gripping the snub in her pocket and now, with no conscious thought, fired without pulling it free. The shot took her target in the gut and the woman who had come into view around the industrial bin, fired high before folding forward sharply and clutching at her abdomen. Then a second burst from the Grim made the woman’s body jerk once then go still.  Lorelea felt nothing. She knew she should be appalled. She had never killed anyone before, never fired a shot in anger, never…
“I’ll run,” Grim was saying. “Cover me as much as you can.”
She blinked and felt his hand grip her arm. She wanted to say she was not that good of a shot, that this was not any kind of situation she had been in before. But something in his expression told her he had figured that already. It was just either she or he had to go out there and he was the one volunteering. She pulled the snub out of her ruined pocket and nodded.
 A thump on the industrial bin was all the warning they had. A dull thump and the rapid mist rising. They had been lucky. Whoever had thrown it, the grenade had fallen short and it landed in the industrial bin, leaving them protected for a few moments from whatever gas or irritant the grenade had contained.
But Lorelea knew that whatever it was it could rise, disperse and affect them if they remained in place. And if they left the cover of the industrial bin together, without the other to provide some kind of cover, they would be easy targets. There was no other way to go, beside them was a solid wall.
Solid wall. 
Except for the slight depression in the panel at hand height.
Lorelea did not waste – or risk – a breath to explain. Instead she tagged Grim hard on one arm and pushed her hand onto the panel, feeling the mechanism give. The panel shifted slightly but not enough. Like everything else here, it was old and poorly maintained. Then Grim was behind her adding his strength to hers and the panel opened up. They were inside the dark service space and Grim heaved the panel back to seal them in and ran his snub’s energy field over the mechanism to fuse it shut. Unless whoever was after them knew the local service tunnel network well, they should have a chance.
The last service tunnel Lorelea had been in was well signposted by augmented labelling from the starport’s AI. This place had none. She had no idea which way would take them further into the dilapidated area and which would lead them out of it. Maybe Grim had a better sense of direction, or just had figured before she did that keeping still was the worst of the three options available. He had produced a narrow beamed flashlight and, putting a hand on Lorelea’s shoulder briefly, led the way along the narrow tunnel.
The air in the tunnel was dry and had an acrid tang to it. Their footsteps stirred a slight miasma of dust and Lorelea wondered where it had come from if these tunnels were so closed off and unused, hoping it didn’t betray their passage. The next exit along, Grim paused long enough to fuse the opening mechanism. Then shone the beam of his flashlight up so the darkness around them was banished.
“You alright?” He looked and sounded genuinely concerned.
“Yeah. But can’t you just call in some back up or something? You’re CSF, right?”
His expression blanked abruptly.
“Was. Long story and it’ll have to wait, we need to keep moving.” He turned away taking the light with him.
“Wait!”
There was one thing Lorelea needed to know, but Grim was already moving.
“We can talk later – when we’re safe.”
“I just want to know why you were there? How did you know, I was -?”
He turned back towards her and his face was wearing the impersonal mask again.
“I didn’t,” he told her. “I was just passing by. Now we need to move. Please.”
Grim fused the next exit panel shut too and soon after they reached a point where they could either continue on or take a ramp down. He shone the flashlight down the ramp into the dark.
“That goes to the automated freight level,” Lorelea said. “It’s fully automated. No place for humans.”
Grim looked across at her, his face distorted by shadows.
“You seem to know a lot about this.”
She shrugged. “Long story. But believe me, we don’t want to go that way.”
He nodded and shone the light along the tunnel ahead.
“Alright. I guess we keep on this way. At least with this all being AI dead they can’t track us in here. But depending who your friends were, they might have the exits covered.”
There was a slight interrogation in his tone.
“I don’t know who they are,” she said aware she was sounding defensive. “I was slipped the address for that Bay in Voltz. I’d just said I wanted to speak with someone who could help me find someone.”
“Who were you-?” Grim broke off and the light vanished. They could both hear the footsteps in the dark ahead. Lorelea felt an arm loop her waist and she was hurried down the ramp. The arm released her with a firm pressure indicating she should continue her descent and she obliged for a couple more paces then pressed herself against the wall and snub in one hand. 
The light played over the top of the ramp and finding nothing in its beam a figure appeared,silhouetted briefly, one arm extended with a snub ready. A moment later it fell away with a grunt. But the light remained hovering. Lorelea was almost bowled over when Grim spun and started running. He swept her with him and they were running down the ramp, the flashlight casting odd shadows as the ramp doubled back. 
If she had been in any doubt as to why, the muffled splut of a gas grenade exploding was all the explanation needed. Grim hit the door at the bottom and opened it in almost the same movement and then they were in the brilliant light. Blinded, Lorelea blinked and was still trying to adjust when her arm was grasped and she was steered at speed to one side.
The freight area was as she remembered it.
“The vehicles here -” she started to explain, but then broke off as right in front of them two trains of trailers appeared from either side, danced tightly round each other and shot off at right angles to where they had emerged. Lorelea was forced back, Grim beside her, pressed hard against the walls to avoid the one that spun towards them. Following its path, two figures had just emerged from the service door. One fired a quick snap of energy which burned the side of a container right beside her, then they had to retreat to avoid the freight themselves.
Her whole body shaking at the near miss, Lorelea barely felt a brief tug on her hand and Grim was already vanishing at speed around the sharp corner as she pushed herself away from the wall to follow. He waited for her to catch up and Lorelea felt a wash of fury at herself, banishing all other emotion. She wasn’t going to let herself be any kind of a problem here. She had this.

E.M. Swift-Hook

Lethal ducks that ride in punts
Carry guns and humans hunt
Quacking in a sinister mode
Each one feeling brave and bold 
As each shot a human ends
Cry ‘Orange sauce to you, my friend!’

©jj 2019

Welcome to the Hotseat of Truth, a device in which your protagonist is trapped. The only way to escape is to answer five searching questions completely honestly or the Hotseat will consume them to ashes!

Today’s victim is Percy, an Arthurian Knight of the Round Table, doomed to immortality and still alive in the present day. You can read his story in Quartet: Four Short Stories, Four Explorations of the Fantastic, by Leo McBride

How did you feel when you realised you had somehow become immortal?

You’ll forgive me, milady, for my answer. For you see, I felt ashamed. I knew in my heart the reason why immortality had been bestowed upon me, and every day that I continue to live is a reminder that I have failed my king. I swore I would not rest until I completed the quest he charged me with, and here I am, still without rest, still without the goal I sought. Each day I wake is a reminder of my long failure – and a spur to drive me on to succeed at last. Then, I hope, I might be able to give myself to that sweet bliss of eternal sleep that has eluded me for so long. 

What is the hardest thing about being immortal?

The hardest thing? That’s a simple answer. It’s the people one leaves behind. I have lost so many, whose brief candle has been snuffed out as my dim light endures. Worse, as the years have gone by, I have realised how bright those lives shine in comparison to my own. Perhaps immortality dulls one’s light. Instead, I see their lives like a flare in the darkness. I have been with them as they died. I was with Merlin as he was born. And sometimes, through the crowds of the world, I think I see a face I recognise, only to realise I am mistaken, and I thought it was someone I lost long ago. For some of those moments, the grief never fades.

Have you ever behaved dishonourably?

I fear it is my dishonour that prevents me from completing my quest. Only those who are worthy may find the Grail. If I were worthy, I would not still be alive. My quest would be done, my king would be satisfied. I am a knight, and I have fought on battlefields, on streets, in sewers and in palaces. Some would say that battle is chivalrous, but it seldom is. When I first saw knights in the forest I was raised in as a boy, I thought them angels, as my mother described. Taking part in battle has taught me combat is more often the devil’s work. It is often brutal, and dirty, and fraught with terror. One does what one needs to do in order to survive. Has every such conflict been honourable? I dare not say. There is one greater dishonour, of course – the day I held my tongue when I should have spoken out, and in doing so failed my king. 

What do you feel is the greatest gain that humanity has made over the time you have lived?

You live in a time of wonders beyond my power to imagine as a child growing up in the forest. Your physicians are almost the equal of Merlin himself. You have the power to speak and have your voice heard on the other side of the world. You have unlocked the code of life itself. You don’t always use such wonders wisely – you sometimes use such power to destroy rather than to heal. But there seldom passes a day when I do not turn my head to the sky and gaze upon the greatest wonder of all, one that so many take for granted. You can fly. What more wondrous sensation could there be?

What is your favourite alcoholic beverage? And has the imbibing of same ever got you into trouble?

Wine was commonplace around our knightly table, but growing up I was innocent. When I first travelled with the knights who came to the forest, they gave me wine and I knew not what it was. They were teasing me, I realised later, having sport with the foolish young peasant boy. There was especially one knight, Sir Kay, who kept refilling my tankard and urging me to drink more. We had something of a falling out, I must confess, and he took to insulting me – which in turn drove me on to prove myself. But perhaps his anger was understandable. After all, it was the morning after my first night of drinking that he discovered I had used his helmet for a bowl. Again, I must protest, I was young and so very foolish.

There will be more of Percy’s adventures in print sometime in the future…

The village bus used to run twice daily. Most days the bus was half-full. Then, to save money, it was made twice weekly – in one direction on Monday morning and back again on Thursday morning. Which was no good for anyone.

A year later they stopped it.

The Councillor gave me his vague political smile.

“We would reopen the bus service, but there is no demand. No one used it. If people wanted a bus service they’d have used it.” 

Irrefutable logic.

Then he got in his Mercedes and drove off.

Marie Antionette would have been so proud of him.

E.M. Swift-Hook.

“I’m tired of trying to see the good in people.” Clarence stalked around the pen with his wattles waving distractedly. You get fond of people and they just go away and leave you. Last week there were five thousand turkeys in the barns. Yesterday there were five hundred. Today there is just me.”
The only other occupants of the fifteen-acre field eyed him in something like contempt. “Didn’t the same happen last year?” Gloria asked waspishly.
Clarence stopped and looked down at the fat little chicken and her sister.
“Did it?”
“Yes, Clarence, it did.” In contrast to Gloria’s waspishness, Florence just sounded tired. “And the year before.”
He looked puzzled.
“I don’t remember.”
“No you never remember. But it’s always the same. From now until the winters end it will be just the three of us. Then there will be baby turkeys. Then they will grow up. Then they will go away.”
“But why. Where do they go.”
Gloria came as close to a shrug as a chicken can.
“We should know…”

The two humans who sat on the fence looked at the trio with some amusement.
“Have you never wondered what they think?” the man was feeling whimsical.
“Does poultry think,” his companion leaned on his shoulder.
“Presumably. On some level they must. Ergo, do they wonder where the rest of the turkeys go?”
“You may as well ask if that turkey cock wonders why he is still alive.”
“He might not wonder, but I do.”
“He was a mistake. We only sell hen birds. And the hatcheries aren’t supposed to send anything else. But three years ago he arrived with the girls. Dad thought it would be interesting to keep him and see just how big a turkey can get. But he pined on his own, so we got him the chickens for company.”
“How compassionate.”
“It’s no good you looking at me like that, and at least our birds have a decent life.”
“What there is of it.”
The woman lifted a pettish shoulder and they fell silent.

No more was said until the turkey cock stalked across the field to where they sat.
“Poor old boy,” the man said. “I wouldn’t like it if somebody took you away and replaced you with a chimpanze.”
His companion laughed and moved into his embrace.

Clarence peered shortsightedly up at them.
“Excuse me,” he said politely. “Can you tell me where my chums have gone? The chickens are very nice, but a chap wants his own kind, doncha know.”
But they all they heard was gobble gobble, and the women threw him a handful of grain from her pocket.
He ignored the corn. “I don’t mean to be impolite, but I did ask you an important question.”
Of course they didn’t answer, and in the end he gave a doleful sniff and went to back to where Gloria and Florence were scratching in the dirt and squabbling over earthworms.

©️jane jago

The life of an elderly delinquent in limericks – with free optional snark…

You need some new glasses they said
Choose frames that look nice on your head
But I can’t see my face
Without glasses in place
So I’ll just keep the old ones instead 

© jane jago

The cathedral bell tolled from its tower, beckoning weary travellers to rest. It had been the landmark guiding Rob’s course for some hours and he knew that somewhere in its shadow a young woman was waiting. Thoughts of Anne had kept him going, urging his mount to keep up a ground eating pace over the frozen ground. He had to see her even though the news he carried burdened his soul.

As he let the exhausted animal walk over the bridge, he could see the failing sunlight catching on the River Wear so it gleamed like a dark satin ribbon looping around the high ground dominated by castle and cathedral. Snow-burdened rain began falling in heavy drops. Some found their way past the collar of his cassaque and down his neck, the rest were oiling the cobbles to a dull gleam beneath the hooves of his horse.

A strong smell of good Newcastle coal filled the dusk as behind the closed doors and shuttered windows of the houses lining the narrow street, wise folk kept to their hearths. But Rob was feeling far from wise as he pushed his tired mount the last hundred yards up the hill and into the Market Square where the welcome warmth of an inn awaited them both. Tonight he needed rest, his wounds were sore and aching in the cold, but tomorrow he must find Anne and tell her what had happened to her brother.

That there had been a battle and he wouldn’t be coming home.

E.M. Swift-Hook

She knew it made good sense. Great-aunt Tiffany had given an understanding smile and patted her hands, folded like pinioned birds in her lap.

“It will keep the money in the family and it’s not like Cousin Richard is a monster or anything.”

Not a monster.

No.

Kind, but thirty years older than her and smelling of foot powder and stale pipe tobacco. 

At the altar, he took her hand.

“You alright, m’dear? We can call it all off. Even now. I’m an old bear but not a grumpy one.”

For a moment she hesitated.

“My old bear,” she said.

E.M. Swift-Hook.

Midwinter Miracle by E.M. Swift-Hook is a Fortune’s Fools short story. Tegwyth used to receive gifts at Midwinter, until she became one herself. Alone in the snow, she will do anything to survive because of the one thing that matters most to her…

The loaf was within reach now. But so was the coat and it was that Tegwyth slid carefully from the stool first, looping it around her and under her cloak out of sight. Then she reached out again for the bread.

“I really wouldn’t do that if I was you.”

It was the bearded man. He had moved away from the fire, perhaps so the other two could get to know each other – or perhaps, feeling simply not wanted there anymore. Either way, he now stood on the far side of the table. His face hard, although his voice sounded more as if he were offering her friendly advice than any threat. But she had just become a thief – she had stolen his coat, its warmth so good around her, the warmth of life in the bitter cold of winter. And the price of theft, even if she had been free and not hunted as an escaped slave, was death.

For a moment she thought to run. To flee. Break away. Rush for the door and out into the snow. But as if he could read her thoughts, the bearded man had taken a step to the side so she would have to pass him to be able to leave. His hand curled on a strange looking item clipped onto his belt. But as he moved and light fell on her face, his expression changed. It seemed to soften, as the warmth of the sun softens the hard packed ice. His hand moved away from his belt and he shook his head.

“Sweet truth and dare, you’re only a bloody child,” he said. And reaching past her he picked up the loaf. Tegwyth wondered when he would notice she had taken his coat, maybe he would see the flash of brilliant colour through one of the holes in her cloak, maybe he –

“Here, you hungry? Eat this and I’ll get you some hot soup to go with it.”

Her hands closed over the bread. It felt soft and smelled of yeast and grain – and life.

E.M. Swift-Hook 

A Midwinter Miracle is available on Audible,  as an ebook and paperback and can be purchased from Amazon, Kobo, iTunes and Googleplay. This special edition has typographic art and cover design by Zora Marie.